


Ties of blood

by FakeCirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Families of Choice, Family Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: This is how Elrond knows ancient Dwarvish runes in the „Hobbit”:





	Ties of blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sidomira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidomira/gifts).

Elrond stepped into the well-lit cabinet, going on his tiptoes. He cast a careful glance around. No one was here, it seemed.

He headed to the desk, where he suspected what he looked for was. He went straight there, ignoring an inclination to pause at the book stand. Better do the challenge at once and be done with it. He crept to the wooden furniture, which counter reached to the height of his nose. He studied the oak surface with keen eyes and there it was – his book sticking from under a pile of handwritten papers. Elros was always so negligent, he acted too quickly to even do pranks properly. (Pranks like hiding your brother’s current lecture. _"These are boring, you need some action, you know, the thrill of adrenaline"_.

Elrond would be perfectly happy to just read his tome in peace. Yet his insufferable twin hid the book 'for his own good' as he had claimed, hiding it “in the cave of a lion” as he had phrased it. Elrond spend next dozen minutes considering and half a day on observation from afar if the "lion" left the cave.)

Once having his loss back, he was about to do the only reasonable thing and leave, when his gaze fell upon the manuscripts Elros used as a cover. They were parchments used commonly in correspondence, yet the handwriting on them was different to what Elrond ever had an occasion to see.

He looked meticulously, trying to decipher the enigmatic signs. They seemed crude in comparison to flowing Tengwar, yet Elrond was curious of their meaning, of the mystery they held. Each letter must have its sound, each word it's meaning...

From the doors' direction came a sound of clearing one’s throat. Elrond jumped and whirled around. His heart stopped for a second and his blood run cold (they said the elves didn't feel the cold. He did. Maybe it was human ancestry.)

For in the doorframe stood a menacing figure, more a shadow than the Elda of flesh and bones. His hair were always cut, he never let it grow past shoulders. Simple circlet surrounded his forehead. The only other ore adorning him was the prosthesis he wore in place of his right hand. Yet that mutilation run further. Despite seeing him always clad from head to toe Elrond knew. Some may not notice, but he did: the weird angle his arm had all the time.

More terrible from the unknown horrors the clothes guarded from sight was what was exposed. His face always frightened them both long after they first had saw it covered in blood of their kin. The impassiveness present on it, the pallor, the white stripes of never fully healed scars were worse than others’ features twisted in anger.

Yet the most terrible were his eyes: burning with some cold, pale, eerie fire, like he was some wraith servant of the Dark Lord. The light they shone with was otherworldly.

Elrond was struck speechless. But the comer wasn’t starting a talk either, only looking at Elrond expectantly, which was probably worse, because of his spooky eyes-

“I don’t know these letters,” blurted Elrond as he still held the parchment in hand. May as well start explaining from the most obvious misdemeanor.

"No, you wouldn’t.”

“They aren’t elvish...”

“Mhn.”

Fear of the brooding adult and an inborn hunger for knowledge fought in the child.

“So who's they are?”

Elrond withstood, though barely, steel glance of the grey eyes. They had the same color as his brother’s and yet somehow were so much darker, despite their pale fire.

“Dwarvish,” the tall one answered eventually.

Elrond couldn't help a grimace.

Grey steel of the eyes glistened not unlike a sword when unsheathed.

“What is it?” the tone wasn't scary, it was steady if not curious.

“Mother didn't like dwarves. Said they're traitorous and greedy.”

“Of course they're greedy, they're dwarves,” Maedhros rolled his eyes, stating a fact. He wondered briefly when exactly did he turn Curufin. “But they keep their word. They're all right as long as you're honest with them.”

The child seemed to sunk in his thoughts, looking inward in deliberation. Maedhros wondered how someone so young can have so serious expression on his face.

“Will you teach me?” Elrond asked.

* * *

Maglor strode the halls of the palace, in anxiety looking for the missing one, trying to calm his too fast beating heart. He wouldn't escape...well, he would maybe, but not without his brother, and Elros was playing in the backyard with Men's children (somehow there was always plenty of those no matter in what conditions humans lived, if there was time of war or famine or Dark Lord ruling over Beleriand - Men always managed to procreate.)

Maglor didn't shout to find out the boy. His powerful voice would reach any part of the castle, yet it would scare the boy rather than woo him. Second reason was Maedhros would be annoyed and he never truly accepted the children, merely tolerated them.

(Which was a success, considering his initial outrage at Maglor’s idea of raising them.

_“Are you mad?! You know who’s children they are!”_

_“And precisely that’s why we shall take care of them.”_

_“They aren’t those twins! Rescuing these children won’t clean you of the blood of their uncles.”_)

So Maglor carried out his searches in near silence. He didn't even think of asking Nelyo for help, handing him more points to their (frequenter) arguments, and was passing his chamber only on his way to the east wing, when he thought he heard a quiet voice of a child.

Then, more clearly, his brother’s words:

“No, wrong.” Worried far more than before Maglor hurried to the cabinet... and stopped at the sight. “The pronunciation is more like-” last words were some harsh grunt.

The little one repeated with readiness.

They were sitting at the desk, Elrond at Maedhros’ lap, both leaned toward the papers, clearly engrossed in them. Maedhros was pointing something with his stunt, his arm flipped above Elrond’s shoulder.

Only after the initial shock wore off, Maglor realized this was dwarvish, nothing from the Black Speech. Of course his brother wouldn’t… right?

Silent still, he retreated from the doors.

* * *

It should be uncomfortable: to have someone as trusting and vulnerable under your care, to see your own reflection from hundreds of years ago, when the Trees still shone and your father taught you speech. Now knowing how cruel the world can be, after everything that been done to him it should be daunting. Instead, it felt… nice.

Elrond did not know, even if the twins heard anything of his captivity, of his crimes later on, they couldn’t grasp the whole meaning of it. (Well, of the crimes they had some idea after the last Kinslaying, but that was but a droplet of blood in the sea Maedhros has spilled.) And thus, they acted normal in his presence. They were scared of him, of course, but not that much more than they were of Maglor at the first sight. Elrond touched him as he would any other person, without pause, without that tense moment of doubt if they were allowed to that all the others had with Maedhros since Angband. The moment of hesitation Maedhros knew was filled with thoughts of what had happened to him, of how many times he was touched without his consent. And though they prevented themselves for his sake, he couldn’t appreciate it. The worst thing about it was that they were right. Their manner didn’t help at all. If anything, their tactfulness made it worse.

But Elrond’s hands were no threatening, the lithe body of a child did not reawake the terrifying memories, even as it brushed at Maedhros’ chest, wriggled upon his tights to get a more comfortable seat.

He just held his own arms at both sides of the child to secure him from eventual falling (not that Elrond was about to slip off his lap).

“What’s this letter?”

“Will you memorize that much from one time? Here, learn this.” Maedhros scribbled the alphabet translation with his left hand. “Then come to me for another lesson …if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“If your brother would like to join as well…” Maedhros wasn’t really keen on the idea but since he reaches his hand, why not extend it a little further. What’s one more brat for the oldest brother of six elvish monsters?

“He won’t. He prefers to play with Teleri and the Men’s children, to build toy ships and fight mock battles.”

And though Maedhros didn’t think it possible after watching all his little brothers die, after cradling Fingon’s cold body in his arms, something stung him in the heart then, because Elrond’s words reawaked emotions. That short description was so much like Curufin’s and Celegorm’s antagonism once was: the one quiet preferring books, the other noisy favoring outdoor plays, but the two of them inseparable and loving each other most of all… Though maybe the twins loved each other more like Ambarussa: openly, where it was clear to anyone it was love and not the kind of the bond that was between Tyelko and Curvo – snapping at each other and coming with the most nasty remarks, so as someone didn’t know better, could take them for the worst enemies and not beloved brothers.

“Go,” he said to the boy as well as to ghost memories.


End file.
